Killjoy
by Rookie425
Summary: After seeing the Human-Covenant War come to a close, Private Joshua Davis stumbles upon the myth of a "Ghost Soldier" fabled among a number of UNSC personnel. Interviewing a number veterans and witnesses of the conflict, he pursues its truth.
1. The Ghost Soldier

Disclaimer: I do not own any working titles associated with Bungie, nor do I own Halo or any of its characters, they are, and always will rightfully be the property of Bungie and Microsoft. All main characters in this story are my own, created, inspired and developed by myself. I do not plan to sell or profit from this title. It is purely for audience's reading pleasure.

[This was an idea I had a while back after creating a sort of character that I found difficult to create without being a total sert. So, having been inspired by Max Brook's _World War Z_ I found it easier to write this in a documented, interview format. Feedback is really appreciated and, in this case, encouraged. This is my first time writing in this form, so whatever advice you may have, feel free to shout it at me.]

Introduction

Most historians have a statistical, timeline based view of the Human-Covenant War, or the "Great War," or even the "Great Journey" as some have come to adopt the title from the Covenant prophecy. Often what I see is a historical statistic calculated, inserted into a text book and then filed away as a dark chapter in human history. I personally see the thirty-year was as more of an entire book; not a single dark chapter, but many, each with their own perspective.

After I returned from active duty on Installation Zero, code-named "The Ark," I kept this attitude even as I fitted back into a civilian lifestyle, enrolling back into college. Nearing the end of my first semester back home, our final war history class requirement instructed that students work in groups to research and collaborate on writing a full, factual document regarding any particular effects or aspects of the Human-Covenant war from 2525 to present day.

Being a former journalist, I suggested to the group that it would be best if I handled interviewing anyone who experienced the war first hand. They agreed, saying that the raw materials of the interviews would be present as backing for the final document.

Even with my journalistic sense of genuine interest, I found that this project was just another repeat. People had written war accounts since the throw of the first rock and spear. The interviewees had remarkable stories to tell, but I felt something was missing from each that I spoke to. I was beginning to feel expendable in regards to my role in the group. I was just relaying information that confirmed something that another group member had already researched.

About a month into the project, however, I came across a peculiar case that sparked some interest. One weekend, I went with my brother Mark, who had also served on deployment with me, to a local bar with some friends. It was there that my brother spoke of a life threatening experience on the Ark. He claimed that the only reason he survived was because of the intervention by another Marine, an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper (ODST) to be exact.

He continued to describe this soldier as heavily equipped and was even able to describe some of the personalized features on his armor. While an interesting story, my attention wasn't caught until the bartender asked my brother to confirm the Marine's appearance.

The bartender, former Staff Sergeant Ian Graves, said that he had seen a trooper with the exact same description during his time in the service. It wasn't a "maybe" or a "similar to" situation. Graves was certain that Mark was referring to a fabled "Killjoy," a kind of military myth, or a Marine superhero.

Unfortunately, I didn't have my recording device with me at the time, but I did re-interview both my brother and Sergeant Graves. From that point on, I made it a habit to mention this idea of a Marine hero to each of my interviewees, asking if they had ever heard or seen anything about this ghost soldier.

I kept the Killjoy Project information separate from the raw material that I had recorded for the final group project, but it didn't stop me from submitting a copy to my professor. Part of me still asks why did it, but the only answer is that I didn't know what else to do with it.

My professor showed satisfaction at the material that I had provided for the group, and even though I had left the Killjoy information out of the presentation, he recommended that I have the information published. "I can't do that," I said to him. Shocked, he practically demanded why until I explained it. I was afraid that if I had published all information into one document, then readers would be most likely be distracted from the original point of the interviews: to record individual accounts of the war effect.

When I brought this to his attention, he was quick to agree with me. However, he wouldn't let go of the idea of publication. Personally, I didn't want to either. "Put it all in a book," he said. I was dumbstruck at the idea at first. Thinking about all the time and trouble of publishing was a concern, and I made that clear to him. "This is some deep shit, Josh," he said to me, cursing for the first time while I was present. "You don't want your work to just get filed away and die off, do you?" He was right; it was exactly what I was trying to prevent with history. "Then put some fucking backbone behind your pen and get it done."

I left his office and started first thing the next morning. As much as I despised seeing statistical publications of the war being the primary focus of our text books, I hated even more the idea of a lost memory or any overlooked information. I wasn't just working to publish a book and make money. I was now leading an investigation. This legend exists, and I'm simply giving it its due.


	2. The Ark

**[Mark Davis barely takes his eyes off of the swirling inch of coffee at the bottom of his mug, biting the side of his mouth as we sit in a local cafe. It's ironic that we chose this as our place of meeting since the first time we spoke of the Ghost Soldier it was in a bar. His story made up for what mine lacked, since I was nowhere near his zones of operations during my time on The Ark. Even though he had already told me the story in a bar, this time is official and on record. He takes a long look at my recording device on the table and lets out a quiet laugh, jokingly comparing me to an ONI officer in a debriefing.]**

"The Ark" might've looked like some piece of alien art or some hair-brained forerunner idea for a space station, but once we were on the surface it was just like the ring world I had stormed with _In Amber Clad_ months back. It was all even-plained and stable. Sure it was disorienting that you could see the rest of the world just by looking up on the horizon, but as long as you kept your eyes level down your sights you were fine.

**[He waves his hand dismissively]**

We already know about that shit though. I don't want to waste your time, so on to the point. I wasn't on the ground until we _really_ started to roll in heavy. After the Master Chief cleared an LZ for Commander Keyes, we were offloaded with three tanks and about two Warthogs rigged with gauss cannons. Even that fuckin' glow-bot* was coming with us.

**[* "343 Guilty Spark" was the official designation of the forerunner artificial intelligence that assisted the Master Chief throughout the siege of Installation 00. It was frequently referred to as "light bulb" for its spherical shape and lambent nature.]**

I rode with one of the Scorpion tanks. Nothin' like cozying up to a slab of armor when you're rolling in to a firefight. We didn't get to do much for the first few minutes but enjoy the scenery and listen to tungsten clash with armor. The Chief had already taken point with his own Scorpion and cleared the way. I remember hearing a private nearly stroking it to the mayhem that he was practically being lead through hand in hand. "Tank beats everything!" Yeah, whatever dude. Try going that distance on foot.

Anyway, the start of real resistance started up once we reached the wall. And that's simply what we could really call it; "the wall." Because that's what it was, this almost two-hundred foot wall made of some metric tons of God-knows-what. No firepower was going to crack its sub-level access gates, so we needed the robot to give us special access. On top of that, the Covenant had fortified the exterior since we showed up.

_**What kind of defenses?**_

Vehicles mostly...Yeah, I thought it was unlike them too. I mean they did have a couple of Shade turrets set up, but usually when the Covenant wanted defense, they at least had a plasma battery dug in place. I guess our quick landing didn't give them much time to set up, so they had to resort to vehicles; Wraiths, and a couple of their Choppers. Meanest, ugliest mother-fucker I've ever seen on wheels those were. And the Chief just plowed right through 'em. Didn't stop until we reached the wall, when he had to bale out.

_**Why did he leave his tank?**_

Light bulb only had access to fit one man through the wall's door, that is on the upper level. The Chief had to go inside a different way while we rolled in through the lower level. I didn't get it until we hit a dead end.

Our path just kinda ended with a huge gap. The substation ran right through the wall to the other side of the chasm, so it should've been no trouble in theory. Even though we had the idea to go straight forward, there was just this gap that kept us from continuing. It was dark down there too, I was surprised our tank driver didn't tumble the damn thing off the edge into that alien abyss.

That's when the bridge lit up in front of us.

_**Bridge?**_

Yeah, some kind of light, energy, ray bridge. It was the whole reason for the Chief taking an alternate path. I saw him at the controls on a landing way above our position. I guessed it was like a security post, or an overseer's station.

Once we reached the other side was when it all went to hell. The minute our treads rolled onto the sand, a Covenant Scarab was right in tune with us. I'm talking boot-in-the-face, up close and personal. The super unit's leg landed right in front of our tank and just kept walking.

I saw it in the faces of the other passengers. We knew how lucky we were that thing hadn't gotten an interest, otherwise we would've been ash. Seriously, a man could piss himself to death seeing that monster up in your face. And that was only about half of what we were up against.

_**Can you describe the staging area? What kind of resistance did you encounter?**_

**[Mark brings up his hands in a directing manner, mimicking the shape of the desert chasm.] **It was a straight shot to the cartographer, the map room that we were after. The Covenant had three lines of armor, all Wraith tanks. They had some Ghosts backing them up too, a few Grunt and Jackal shooters per phase line.

After the Scarab vanished, we didn't need to worry about taking our time. With the Chief leading this charge of titanium tonnage, any order to retreat would have probably been replied with a big "fuck you."

Once the first line went down I wanted to jump off the tank and rush the Covenant bastards. We all did. We wanted to get up and cheer when we were passing the column of burning wreckage.

The second line, on the other hand, got a little crowded. There was a thick rock formation that forced us through some tight bottlenecking paths. We eventually managed to cut through and flank some of the enemy armor. That's when it showed up again.

**[Mark pauses.]**

The Scarab. It showed up again. This time it was on to us. The second it touched the valley floor, it lit us up with a line of plasma. Our only option was to get in close, too close for its cannon to lock onto us, but by then Brute's had come to back it up with Choppers.

_**Is that how you were forced off of your tank?**_

**[He sets down his cup.]** Mm. No, we just got a hundred-ton curb stomp. **[He makes a crushing motion with his hands.] **Smashed, crushed, and dug into the sand. Got too close to the bug, and he stepped on _us_.

I knew I had gotten thrown. I was sitting on one of its rear treads when the Scarab's foot came down on the cockpit. The shock caused the whole tank to cave inward, practically catapulting my ass off of it. I remember getting up and running, shifting my weight to compensate for an injured leg.

I didn't know where the hell I was going. All the sand in my face, the Choppers flyin' around like some derby, and I'm just hobbling between the crossfire of shells and plasma, blindly firing my piece of shit M7 around hoping to catch one of the monkey bastards in the eye or something. Blind, deaf, and angry aren't a good mix for a soldier. So I ran in the only direction I thought was _away_ from everything.

I didn't have to worry much about getting run over by the support vehicles or getting shot by the super unit; I was still beneath the Scarab and no one was dumb or brave enough to risk a vehicle under that thing after what it did to our tank.

It felt like an hour before I finally cleared its pacing range. By then I could hear the thing start to have some kind of fit. I had the feeling that its footing was getting irregular but I didn't look back until I head its alarm start blaring.

Its legs started to shamble, giving way beneath its weight. Plasma started to burst out of some of its ducts, taking some chunks of plating off with it. I knew something had to have torn its core up from the inside, there was no other way we could've done critical damage that fast.

Before I could clear the radius, the Scarab's core overloaded and detonated. The shockwave, it threw my ass like a Goddamn Frisbee. That was the last thing I remember before it happened.

_**Before…?**_

You know. Oh…right. When I came to, I saw that I was surrounded. A pair of Jackals had me by either arm, dragging me in the middle of a Grunt squad. I wanted to resist but I was so fucking rattled I couldn't keep my head straight let alone tell if my gun was even still on me. The sand kicked up from the blast wasn't helping either.

I only just started to come to my senses when I felt myself hit the ground and have a plasma pistol shoved in my face. Nothing gets your adrenaline kicking like a gun to your head. I actually didn't think twice when reaching for my own. I hadn't made note of the others, so I was screwed, but hell if I cared. I just wanted to smoke this little bastard for thinking he had the right to put a gun in my face.

Before I could though, his body just seemed to…**[Mark clasps both of his fists together, sending them apart rapidly as he mocks an explosion] **Boom. He just imploded. I mean was just gone. Nothing left but blue mist and a set of feet.

Now at that point I didn't know what happened, I didn't care seeing I still had war in my mind. I had seen things get turned into vapor before, so this didn't stop me from drawing my gun. If anything, it encouraged it with all of his buddies in dismay.

Sand and Grunt blood was in my face, making it hard to sight up on anything, but I managed to make out the figure of a Jackal and by then two more Grunts had hit the ground.

_**What caused their deaths?**_

Small arms fire. A couple of well-placed shots from a BR55. Didn't think much of it. Plenty of riflemen in that valley at the time.

I smoked the first Jackal with half a mag. It was dumb choice, but I wasn't thinking about conservation or efficiency at the time. Whoever had just saved my ass did well enough to scatter the rest of the bunch.

I tried looking for the other Jackal. After clearing the blood from my eyes, it turned out he was still in front of me, cutlass drawn. Before I could squeeze off a shot, I saw this black figure come charging out of my peripheral and shoulder this sonuva bitch in the face.

_**Do you remember what it looked like?**_

I immediately recognized this guy as an ODST. It's almost impossible to mistake for anything else. The only distinguishing feature I caught was a machete that was sheathed on his back. It was pretty cool at the time.

I almost wanted to laugh, but then I saw just exactly how he fought this war. That Jackal was down on the ground, practically no threat, and he just stands over it and tops off his magazine into its body. Can you believe that?

_**Some Covenant are harder to kill than others. He could have been trying to make sure.**_

Not Jackals, and not with that much fire. We know the difference between a scout and a Brute Captain. We don't kill like that. That's not how we're trained. It's sloppy, and it's a waste of ammo.

I thought he could've just been pissed like the rest of us. Then I saw him acquire the last Grunt when it was on the run. I'll never forget this; he looked at me over his shoulder while reloading a 40mm launcher on his rifle. I kid you not, this motherfucker had a set of fanged teeth painted on his helmet.

It was painted just beneath his visor, like it was supposed to be the upper part of his mouth or something. It was like that shark scheme you would have painted on a fighter jet almost, but it was just…fanged.

The second he had his gun loaded again, he brought his sights right back to the Grunt. Just like the first one, he turned the little bastard into vapor.

What got me most was how he just walked away afterward, like nothing happened.

_**Did you have any idea who it might've been?**_

I thought it might've been your friend, **[name omitted for sake of recipient]**, but his objective was too far off from the valley. Plus, it wouldn't make much sense for him to be here even if it had been cleared ahead of schedule. Then I thought, none of the other ODSTs were with us. They all left once the valley was cleared of Anti-Air fire.

He could've been a ghost for all I know.

_**Did he ever say anything to you?**_

**[Mark shakes his head]** He didn't have to. The forty millimeter tungsten slugs and that unholy machete did well enough to deliver his message clearly.


	3. Visegrad

**[Despite the evidence of Planet Glassing in tell-tale scars around Bacigalupi Memorial, agriculture is still prevalent in Chi Rho's settlements. Vibrant isn't exactly the term I would use for some of the planet's country. The population has boomed since the flood of refugees but with the acres of unoccupied land between farms, "tranquil" would be the first thing that comes to mind, with its stable weather, hot climate and quiet atmosphere. Marcell Geza, a farmer from Reach, describes it as "safe" as he watches the distant activity of his neighboring farm. A Hungarian translator follows as I help Marcell lay a fresh layer of compost over their garden.]**

We had been living alone, me and my seventeen year old daughter, Ibolya. After her mother died I just refused to be anywhere else. Our work in the fields was the only thing paying for my daughter's education and I did not want to imagine myself anywhere near cities. I still cannot bear to be among too many people.

Maybe it was my stubbornness as a working man, not to want to leave. But, we were managing well enough. Most of all, we were happy with where we were.

**[Marcell laughs.]** Ibolya hardly struck me as having a farming attitude but even she surprised me. **[He pauses, looking down at the garden patch.]** Anyway, that's not what you are here for. Where should I begin?

_**From the top. What was the first thing you remember about the day of the encounter?**_

It was the twenty-third. July, I remember. Visegrad had a rainfall that night so we were in no hurry. The machines we used didn't fare well once the ground began to soften up so we had to do things by hand. My daughter and I were bringing in the harvesting equipment when young Vencel had arrived with the salary from our last shipment of crop.

His face read disappointment when he noticed that it was only me and Ibolya. He was always on time, he and his labor force. Young and ambitious as he was, the boys respected him. Pay was collected every week. They had no reason to be late.

I told him that they were probably just drying off in the lodge. It was just up the hill from where we were. Though it was unsetting that no one thought to raise us or any other settlements on the short-wave to let him know. Vencel was more concerned than angry by now. "This isn't like them," he kept saying. He was just about to head over to their compound when we heard sounds coming from that direction.

I was certain it was gunfire. We heard plenty of guns while working in the field to know. It wasn't too unusual. Rebels use to exchange shots with the military during the winter seasons. This was far too close though and, coincidentally, there were soldiers in the area. They're never here on routine patrol if it isn't serious.

I didn't take a long to decide that I would investigate. I just knew I had to act faster than Vencel before he thought to go himself. If anything happened to him it would be on my hands. So, I dropped the harvesting equipment, told Ibolya to do the same and went in the house for the guns.

"_**Guns?" Didn't UNSC sanctions limit civilian carry to one firearm?**_

I only had one more than the legal limit. We gladly abided by that law until rebels started to wander too close. We would break ten more laws then if it meant insurance of our families' well-being. That's exactly why I went to investigate; to make sure the boys were fine and that the compound had someone to defend it if need be.

I left Vencel and Ibolya with my hunting rifle and told them to wait inside with the doors locked. Told them if I didn't return or reach them on the radio within the hour, then they were to call the other plantations and drive my jeep to our neighbor's. The compound wasn't that far away. I could be there in ten minutes at a steady pace.

**[Marcell pauses.] **I wish I had known what was waiting for me…Things would have gone better for all of us. I imagined someone would have at least called by the time I began walking. Five minutes into the travel the gunfire started to die off and then I was truly worried. All I thought about was getting there.

I was no more than two-hundred meters from the compound when I was nearly trampled by a herd of Moa*. They didn't scare too easily, though they weren't the bravest things either. When we ran farming tools in the field they wouldn't move until one of us approached them. They weren't bright either. Instead of running away, they simply ran to the nearest hiding spot even though we could see them. For something to have scared them so far away was not a good sign.

That's when I heard the first scream and I started to run. Not a moment after that, the gunfire returned. I was actually relieved because it might have been the soldiers. It was louder this time, definitely not something that a farmer would have.

**["Moa" is a birdlike creature—closely similar to an emu or ostrich—indigenous to Reach's wildlife.]**

By the time I arrived within forty meters of the compound around the bend, a vehicle was driving off to the north. It was speeding, fleeing. A second was coming in my direction. I tried to hide and ready my shotgun, but I didn't bet on the thought that they hadn't seen me. As it neared, I could see burn marks on it and blood spatter in the windshield.

_**What did the vehicle look like?**_

It was military without a doubt; jeep size, no doors, olive green, and a machine gun mounted on the back. The driver shouted something as he drove by, I don't know whether it was at me or his gunner. But I was able to find the meaning on my own. Seeing the hell that had become of the compound, and seeing military personnel on the run made me want to do the same.

So, I ran back; told Ibolya to get on the shortwave or her chatter to warn the neighbors that someone had attacked the settlement. Vencel had already started to scrounge what he could from the house while Ibolya and I began fortifying the garage.

_**You had a vehicle. Why didn't you just try to drive away?**_

There was really no place to run. That part of Visegrad was mostly a boxed canyon. We would only be running into a wall if we tried. The garage was the safest place at the time.

It had a trap door on the side that lead into the basement for access—easily barricaded, plentiful with tools, and nothing could open the front doors without power. We were all familiar with at least one emergency plan. Our neighbor Jenó even had a built in panic room inside his home.

Ibolya and I were in the garage waiting for Vencel. On his way with the radio, he stopped between the house and us—put the radio down and raised my rifle on something in the distance. Ibolya tried calling him inside through the window, but he was intent on whatever was out there. I was just about to go out there with my shotgun…but it was just then that my daughter told me "look."

Vencel…he…it was as if the air around him…

**[The translator looks me and pauses for a moment before Marcell speaks.]**

For a moment, it looked as if he passed through a magnifying glass. I was afraid—I didn't want to go out there, I couldn't even call out to him. Before I could do anything, there was a light—a white, two-pointed ray of light—and a moment later, Vencel was hanging from it. And to taunt the boy more, its user revealed itself in front of him.

_**Can you describe it?**_

Tall. About eight—maybe nine feet. Broad shoulders, dog legs, its body protected by a purple shell, like a beetle. The light in Vencel's stomach was coming from the monster's arm, or its fist. I'm not sure. But the way it appeared…it was as if it took shape from the rain. And it handled Vencel like he was weightless, lifting him, bleeding him like a pig.

Ibolya tried to scream, but she stopped herself, cupped her hands over her mouth. Even so, her whimpers might just have been as loud. I couldn't even think to urge her away from the window until after the beast threw the boy's body aside.

"Look away," I said and urged her away. When she did, I saw two more appear. The one that killed Vencel—I assumed to be the leader—issued them orders; pointing to the buildings and rambling something I couldn't understand. It vanished after that; headed toward the communications station.

We had to keep moving. They took their time with the compound. I was certain that they weren't going to stop with Vencel; they were going to search our settlement inside and out. Now that we saw who—or what—the invaders were, I knew that fortification would be useless.

So we did the last thing we thought we could: run. Just like the soldiers did, we tried to outrun them. Luckily, our jeep was inside so we could get a head start.

_**I thought you said that running would only get you cornered.**_

**[Marcell slacks his shoulders with a bag of compost still in his hands as he is about to pour it into a JOTUN garden spreader.]**

I'm sure the military has taught you the concept of "retreat." If they hadn't seen Vencel, then the three of us would have tried to stay in hiding. Since they saw one, it would be safe to assume that the rest of the locals hadn't had a chance to leave, or hadn't gone very far.

It's okay to run from a fight, and as far as I could see, there was no point in fighting these things. We planned on running our vehicle right through the garage door—maybe even take out a few of the bastards in the process—then alert the other parts of the settlement.

But…

**[Marcell drops the empty compost bag and sits down on top of the JOTUN's open tires.]**

By the time we started the engine, they had already made it inside. I don't even know how they did it—it all happened so fast. I just remember the one of them that fell through the garage's ceiling. It was skinny—almost thinner than you or me—and it looked like a lizard with bird feathers on its head.

I backed the jeep into it and crushed it against the wall. I still regret that decision to this day.

_**Why's that?**_

Because the wall went next. I didn't expect our jeep to go right through the wall and down the slope just past our complex. I couldn't stop it. We rolled downhill in reverse all the way to the path leading to the northern complex, and we could hear them howling and growling the whole way even until we stopped against a patch of trees.

The impact rendered our vehicle useless, so we had to run the rest of the way. Ibolya wanted to take the dirt path, which was quickest to the complex, but I pulled her with me toward the tree line, rifle in hand. We wouldn't stand a chance in the open, I just knew. At the time, I felt that the woods were the best place to lose them.

_**But they caught up to you anyway?**_

**[He nods.]**

It bought us some time but they were too fast. Those legs of theirs...they could almost outrun a husky on flat ground. And those little ones, the bird creatures, they used the surroundings as camouflage; running from tree to tree, screeching and cackling to get our attention.

I couldn't tell if there were three or thirty of them, but I knew they had surrounded us. We could have run for the edge of the forest, but that would mean going at our own pace and leaving the other behind, something that the monsters knew I wasn't going to do. They were toying with us, waiting for me and Ibolya to make the first move.

There was still a chance for one of us though. I still had my weapon and the complex wasn't far. The decision wasn't difficult to make, and when I made it, Ibolya knew right away what my intentions were. I kissed her on the forehead, told her to run.

She pleaded with her eyes, pleaded me to go with. But even then, my daughter still never made me ask more than once. I kept my eyes on her as she turned about and ran—raised my rifle and watched her movement.

With little surprise, the first ambusher revealed itself just as Ibolya ran from their circle. It was turning to pursue her, which made its head poke out of cover. That was enough for me to make a confirmed shot.

**[Marcell laughs, muttering a curse in Hungarian]**

Fast. But no one bested me with a rifle, at least not something that resembled a game bird. The first crumbled without trouble after I caught him in the eye. The bullet meant for the second one must have missed some important vitals though. I'm not even sure if I hit it come to think of it. It caught up to Ibolya by the time I chambered my next shot, but by then I couldn't fire without risking her life as it threw its claws around her shoulders.

I managed to make one step before one of the same monsters that killed Vencel appeared before me. I remember being thrown off my feet and my weapon being torn from my arms. I couldn't see though. Everything was black for a while, and when it wasn't, I could only see in red. My own blood was blinding me as I struggled to see Ibolya in the distance; see if she managed to escape. The monster that had hit me was now towering before me with two other little ones surrounding.

Ibolya's screams had stopped and I assumed the worst. All I could do was spit defiantly at the thing that murdered the last of my family. It laughed; a hoarse, guttural laugh that made its split mouth flare.

Its laugh was short lived by something that hit the back of its head. It didn't appreciate that one bit, but it actually prompted me to look, clearing the blood from my eyes to see. The head of that bird-raptor that captured my daughter was just laying there turning the grass purple with blood. The big one turned to face what had thrown it, and just beyond it was _him_.

_**Can you describe him?**_

Black. Jet black all around his armor. Each part of his body had some piece of metal protecting it. His helmet struck me the most. Teeth were painted just beneath the window over his face. They were sharp, more like fangs than teeth. Atop his head was a human skull, and on its chest was something written. I can't say what they meant, but I remember what the words were.

**[Marcell gestures me to hand him my notebook. Upon returning it, the words "Semper Fi" are written at the base of the page.]**

The monsters looked at him as though he had emerged from Hell, and before they could act, he threw a machete at one of them. The blade…it-it hit perfectly. Its head just split down the center. He wasn't finished. I could still see blood dripping off his fingers when he pulled out a pistol and shot the other one.

Without looking, he fired twice; one shot hit the bird's leg, the other missed entirely, or so I far as I could tell. They were lousy shots, but his focus was the big one, the one standing over me. It was still enough to drop the little bastard to one knee. That gave him enough time to turn for the larger one without worry.

Six shots. I think he fired six shots into the beast, but it still stood—it was protected by something, a shield of some type. On the fifth shot, the thing's shield seemed to break which caused it to drop its weapon when the sixth hit, and by then the soldier had already recovered his machete and turned on the other bird.

I would have thought it logical to reload the pistol, but he just threw it. Not even angrily, he just threw it at the bird's face, grabbed it by the throat and then ran it through with the blade. Its feet were still kicking as he lifted the blade. After that, he just threw it aside like a doll—pulled me up by the arm before turning to the leader, which had seemed to form a pair of glowing blades from either of its wrists.

_**He never said anything?**_

**[He shakes his head.]**

He did tell me one thing. Didn't say a word, but the look I got from that window, that mirror of a face and those fangs as he pulled out his knife just said to me that I did not want to be there.

**[Pauses.]**

So I ran. I didn't look back either. I wanted to at first, but that's when—in the midst of all that growling and roaring and clawing—I heard my daughter call "father." I was so relieved I just took her arm and kept running. We finally reached shelter in one of our neighbors' lodges. We hid there for an hour or so until help arrived.

They weren't regular soldiers either. They were taller than any person I have ever seen, and more armored than the one who saved me and my daughter. I've seen them in photographs of the Reach memorial.*

**[Marcell may be referring to the Spartan IIIs from Noble Team]**

One spoke our language, in fact I think he might have actually been from one of the settlements. His dialect was native to Pàlhàza when our neighbor explained what had happened. I don't remember what they said, just that we were told to stay inside. It was all silence after that. We waited, conversed a little, but mostly waited. It felt like a day before more soldiers arrived and took us away from the place.

_**So, after he saved you and Ibolya, you never saw the figure again?**_

**[Marcell shakes his head, stands, and revs up the JOTUN spreader, which then proceeds to disperse the compost over his gardens.]**

I long since questioned if he had survived, if I should have stayed and helped in return for saving us, though I feel as if I would have only hindered his progress by acting as an obstacle. It wasn't my fight.

**[He turns to face the edge of his farm, then waves to another one in the distance. A figure waves back—a slim woman in her mid-thirties with blonde hair, donned in a tank top and work fatigues.]**

As much as he wouldn't care, I still wish he could have at least heard me say thank you.

_**What makes you think he wouldn't care?**_

Men like that—men who paint skulls and fangs on their faces, men who depersonalize who they are and kill with blades—they don't look for thanks, they don't want help; they enjoy what they do. He may have killed to save our lives, but he would kill a hundred times again. It was sport for him just like hunting was for me.

_**How can you be so sure?**_

In your time of service, have you ever thought to use your knife against one of those beasts you fought?

_**Not unless if I had to. My rifle is always my first tool.**_

Then why did he leave his on his back?


End file.
